10. DAY TWO: THE PREDICAMENT
Dax
I woke up in a great mood this morning after reading about Ava’s date with Preston that fell short in the romance department. And even her little disappearing act has added an element of humor to my day. I turned my head just in time to see her running off into the trees, so I snuck around to head her off.
She was easy to find—I heard her struggling in the quicksand before I actually saw her, and now I’ve made sure she can’t see me while I wait to guarantee the success of my plan. And what better way to spend the time than read some more of her journal without the fear of getting caught? Everyone on the island is aware of this quicksand trap and avoids the area like the plague, which means as long as she doesn’t scream, she’s fairly safe from discovery. At least long enough for me to have some fun.
July 5
The strangest thing happened on Monday. After work, I checked my mailbox before going inside the house and discovered a curious envelope mixed in with the rest of my mail. I studied the typed return address, which matched the delivery address—and they were both mine. I opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of white paper with these typed words in the middle of the page.
HE KNOWS YOUR SECRET
BE CAREFUL
I stared at the note in my hand, trying to get over the initial shock, and panic tugged at my insides until I realize it was probably one of Preston’s tricks. I fell for his last two pranks easily but this time, I won’t be so gullible. Next time I see him, I plan on congratulating him on his efforts, which should be soon because last Saturday he promised we’d do something again this weekend.
Every time I think about him, butterflies fill my stomach. I waited all day to hear his voice on the radio and was so disappointed by the end of my shift that I dreaded going home, knowing I’d spend another evening alone. That’s why I gladly accepted when my supervisor asked if I wanted to stay and wait for a late arrival, but I cringed when Sergio also agreed to stay. The plane was a quick turn, and Sergio left as soon as they were finished fueling the plane. The last line guy waited for me to finish at the front desk, and then we exited the building. He locked the door and said goodnight as he headed for his car.
My keys were playing hide and seek in the bottom of my purse and when I finally found them, I looked up to see Sergio leaning against the trunk of his Trans Am with his legs crossed casually at the ankles and both hands in the pockets of his pants. His car was parked conveniently next to mine and while he’d been waiting for me, he’d removed his work shirt to expose a white tank. The large chain around his neck glistened in the bright glare of the overhead street light. “W’sup, Ava,” he said, through lips that held his cigarette.
I tried to sound calm when I said, “Not much,” but my heart pounded against my ribs as the other line guy pulled out of the parking lot. I hurried to get in my car, and he remained standing against his to finish his cigarette. Putting the key in the ignition, I gave it a turn. Nothing happened. I felt a wave of panic and then the heat rising in my cheeks, cursing my bad luck. It was foolish to leave the top down because I was so exposed—eliminating any hope of him leaving and not noticing my predicament. I could feel him staring at me. Pleeeease start, I begged the car and turned the key again. Nothing. I know, un-freaking-believable.
I saw him in my rearview mirror. He extinguished his cigarette and walked around the car to lean down and rest his arms on my door. “Bummer,” he said, but his voice lacked sincerity. Then he said, “Looks like you need a ride,” and jerked his head in the direction of his car with the utmost of cockiness. I told him I’d call a taxi and pulled my phone from my purse to look up the number, but he snatched the phone from my hand and made it clear he’d offered to drive me home for free. I had my doubts about him not expecting some sort of payment in return, so I folded my arms firmly across my chest and watched him taunt me by twirling my phone between his serpent fingers. I asked for the phone back. He flashed a short smile that immediately disappeared, and then said, “Sure, after you get in my car.”
My mother’s familiar ‘be safe’ warning echoed in my head and walking home at night or hitchhiking definitely wouldn’t fall under her definition of safe—especially without a phone. Getting in a car with Sergio wasn’t much better, but I hadn’t forgotten what happened last time I rejected his offer, so I ignored my conscience and spastic heartbeat telling me it was a bad idea. I stormed to his car and got in while he casually walked around to the driver’s side. He started the muscle car, backed out of the parking spot, and then his eyes slid down the length of my legs.
Instinct and regret kicked in. I reached for the handle to get out but he stepped on the gas, squealing the tires and forcing my head back in the seat. It was too late to change my mind. He drove like he had a death wish. My seat belt was on, but I refrained from grabbing onto the dash or the door because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was worried. I stared at the serpent on top of his hand as he shifted gears and saw him glancing at me as he darted through traffic, but I avoided his gaze. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for last Friday, it ain’t gonna happen, baby,” he said while waiting at a red light. In a not-so-nice tone, I assured him I wasn’t his baby.
A hint of impatience flickered across his face before he regained control, brushing my comment off with a “whatever” and then said I owed him an apology for going to dinner with Preston instead of him because he’d asked first. There were still two more traffic lights to go, but in my best brave voice I told him I didn’t recall him asking. He contemplated my words, and then his expression softened into a cheesy politician grin, full of arrogance. He actually agreed and admitted asking wasn’t really his style because he’d never had to work so hard to get a girl to go out with him, laughing as if he could hardly fathom the idea. “I know you’re fascinated with Preston because he’s like a shiny, new toy,” he said, “but the shine will wear off, and then you’ll realize your mistake.”
Despite my irritation and refusal to look at him, he offered to fix my car and bring it to my house tomorrow after his shift. “Then you’ll owe me dinner,” he said, but I turned my head away from him and contemplated ways to make myself sick. Are heebie-jeebies a legitimate illness?
I hurried out of the car when he pulled up to my curb; amazed he actually brought me to my house and not a dark alley somewhere.
I thanked him for the ride and forced myself to walk at a normal pace to my front door because I felt his eyes on me the entire way. I sighed with relief when he peeled away like a big show off. Now I’m hoping my nerves will settle enough to let me succumb to sleep, but more than that, I’m hoping Preston will show up tomorrow before the end of Sergio’s shift.
July 6
There was another blank envelope mixed in with my mail today, and the note inside said…
YOU’RE BEING WATCHED
The paper had a faint, musty smoke smell that immediately made me think of Sergio and wonder if this might be some evil plot of his—to scare me so he can pretend to rescue me from danger that doesn’t really exist. But then I decided he doesn’t seem capable of pulling off such an elaborate scheme. There’s a certain pilot though who is definitely capable and who also seems to be motivated by my naïve nature, so I’ve decided to see how far he will actually take it.
And speaking of the devil (an extremely handsome one), Preston showed up unannounced at my house this afternoon and said he was worried when he saw my car at Oceanview and I wasn’t there. I told him it wouldn’t start last night, so Sergio drove me home and offered to fix my car sometime today. I didn’t miss the quick rise of Preston’s brow at the mention of Sergio’s name, and he insisted we drive straight to Oceanview so he could look at it himself. After looking under the hood briefly, he found one of the battery cables had come loose. Go figure. My car started right up and I drove it home, trying not to dwell on the disturbing fact that Sergio must have tampered with it on purpose so he could ‘fix’ it an
d pretend to be some kind of hero. Ugh!
We dropped my car off and then went to a quaint Italian restaurant where it seemed like we spent the entire time talking about me. He asked a bunch of questions about my parents, their occupations, and my friends and every time I tried to find out anything about him, he somehow managed to turn the conversation back to me.
After dinner, he drove to the beach and parked the car on the street in front of some posh-looking houses. He made me think he was breaking into one and waited until I was completely and totally freaked out before he told me it was Mr. Caruso’s. Ha. Ha. Ha. It’s a good thing he’s so heart-stoppingly handsome, which makes it impossible not to forgive him.
So I’m happy to report that we aren’t going to jail and Preston isn’t a criminal—at least not in the literal sense of the word. There should be a law against taking advantage of gullible people.
We shared a circle-shaped lounge chair for two and ate strawberries in front of a spectacular sunset. We lay there for a long time, enjoying the backdrop of the sky and ocean, intertwined in a perfect combination, until the sun disappeared completely behind the horizon and was replaced by the night sky. Away from the glow of the city lights, a few stars sprinkled the darkness above the ocean.
The conversation turned to his trick earlier, and he bragged that it was so good he wished he’d gotten it on film. I told him he may have succeeded in royally freaking me out that time, but at least I didn’t fall for his little mystery notes. It was a lame attempt to redeem myself.
He rolled towards me and propped his head in his hand. His eyebrows furled slightly but even in the dark, his smile remained dazzling. “What notes?” he said. Does he seriously think I’m that gullible? Whatever. He even sounded convincing when he told me he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I will not be fooled. Apparently he’s still trying to salvage the stupid prank. Weird.
But the evening got even weirder when he drove me home and walked me to my door. I stepped inside, and then he stepped closer until we were sharing the same air. When his eyes dropped to my lips, my heart literally—stopped—beating. His head tipped and he froze, lips hovering over mine, and I closed my eyes, breathing in his unbelievable scent—waiting, exploding with anticipation, but he left only a whisper of a kiss on my lips and then he was gone. Not all of him, just his lips, the only part that mattered at the moment.
He was about to kiss me—I’m sure of it, but something made him change his mind. He held my hand on the beach… told me he thinks I’m beautiful while watching the sunset… and last weekend, he even mentioned whisking me away with him on his new sailboat. I didn’t imagine those things, so the sudden change is a mystery to me. Maybe that’s why I made a complete fool of myself when he started to step away.
He was staring at a spot on the door behind me when he tried to distance himself, so I clung to his T-shirt and held him there. With my heart feeling like it would explode from my chest, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close for a hug, but I felt him stiffen in my arms.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered into his shirt so quietly I wasn’t sure if he heard me—then for a second, I hoped he hadn’t. I sounded desperate—clingy, like a hormone-crazed teenager. His quiet laugh fueled my worries, and I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he relaxed and his hands slid around my waist to return my hug. “Not a single thing,” he said, and then his laughter was lost in the quiet night air around us. The seconds ticked by, and neither of us spoke. A police siren in the distance faded away into nothing, and then a car passed by on my street, turning the corner and leaving us again with the silence. He seemed torn between wanting to be with me, and wanting to keep a certain distance. His lips were right there, so close but so far away. Any normal guy would make a move, right? At least, that’s the way it happens in the movies and in EVERY romance book I’ve ever read.
He released his grip around my waist to run his finger along the curve of my jaw. I was staring into his green eyes as he studied mine, and then my gaze dropped to his lips in anticipation. His smile weakened, and he suddenly took a step back to put some distance between us. My hands that were resting on his chest fell awkwardly to my sides, and I felt a twinge of rejection mixed with embarrassment.
The words, “Why won’t you kiss me?” slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I focused on his chest while I waited in misery for him to say something. Anything. After a few agonizing seconds, he told me he’s wanted to kiss me since he stepped off Hotel Charlie and saw me for the first time, but then he paused before he said, “I just don’t think… I should.” All I could do was stare—blink—breathe—blush. I’m still horrified and wonder if I misjudged his feelings and he thinks of me more like the younger sister he never had. Or worse. Maybe he already has a girlfriend in another town and his conscience is getting the better of him. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want to tell me because his arms slid away and he started towards his car. He turned back to tell me he’d see me Friday and gave me a warm smile to cushion the blow. “Okay,” was all I could say, and then I stood there stunned before I shut the door. I went to the window to watch him drive away and then my seven-day countdown began.
Ava seems bothered by the fact that their relationship started out abnormally slow in the romance department, but I couldn’t be happier. I can tell she’s new to the whole dating routine thanks to the fact she was homeschooled until her freshman year and a little shy. But she must have heard girls around her talk about their dates and weekend flings to give her a pretty good idea of how things usually work, which was quite opposite of their relationship. And considering Preston’s age and supposed eye-popping good looks, I’m confident he’s no beginner when it comes to romance. Either Preston is the most-chaste twenty-three-year-old guy on the planet or he’s hiding something, and I’d bet on the latter.
I’m dying to read more and find out if I’m right, but Ava is stuck up to her chest and on the verge of crying. With a satisfied grin, I drop the book in my pocket and step out from behind the tree.
“Well, well, well. What a predicament. Gives new meaning to the phrase ‘sticky situation’ doesn’t it?” My voice startles her and causes a sharp intake of breath as she opens her eyes.
“Dax,” she says with a relieved exhale.
“Hey princess.” I give her my best Cheshire smile. “Looks like your little escape plan didn’t work out so well, huh? Well, I hope you have better luck escaping from that pit of quicksand.”
I turn to walk away.
“Wait! Where are you going?” she asks, and desperation oozes from her voice.
I pause to get control of the amusement cracking away at my serious expression before turning around. “I don’t know. I think I’ll head back to the beach and wait for a hot blonde to wash up on shore.” Her mouth falls open right on cue. “Oh, and sorry to break it to ya’, but you didn’t get the part. Since it’s my fantasy, I was looking for someone friendlier, a little more trusting, a little less sassy, and what was the last thing? Oh, yeah. Someone who actually likes me. But don’t feel bad—you nailed the physical profile,” I say with a wink.
“Stop being a jerk and help me,” she says, and then softens her tone. “Please?”
I uncross my arms and rest my hands on my hips. I’m pretty sure she already regrets that last comment, but I can’t stop now. “Look, princess. I’m a lot of things, but a jerk isn’t one of them. And don’t worry; I’m sure someone else will find you soon. A hungry cannibal—or Roxy. And I’m starting to think you and her might make a good team. The pity-party duo. She’s hateful, complains constantly, and she’s also a member of the ‘I hate Dax club’, just like you.”
I turn my back on her again and take a step.
“Wait! I don’t hate you. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry.”
I’m a sucker for apologies but when I turn to face her, I can’t resist putting one hand behind my ear and tilting my head.
“I’m really sorry,
” she says again. “For running away and being so grumpy.” I wait for more, and she grits her teeth. “And for not listening to you.”
This is the part where I know she expects me to jump to her rescue, but I lean against a tree with a cocky grin and pull a banana from my pocket. She stares while I peel it, take a bite, and chew slowly. I’m savoring the fruit but also my triumph in having the upper hand.
“Aren’t you going to help me?” she finally asks with a hint of worry.
“I’m still debating. If I leave you here, at least I’ll know where you are and won’t have to worry about you running off. I could even build a little hut around you and toss you food and water now and then. You’d be a lot less trouble that way.”
“Very funny,” she says, but I think it is and I can’t keep from laughing.
I pop the last bite of banana into my mouth. Tossing the peel over my shoulder, I set the bow and quiver on the ground beside me. After strategically placing some palm leaves at the edge of the quicksand, I lie on my stomach and extend an arm so she can take my hand.
“Okay, now instead of trying to walk out, you have to get horizontal and sort of swim across the surface,” I tell her.
“I can’t move my legs,” she says, but I know she can. I don’t want to tell her I’ve been stuck here before and had to get out on my own. I know it feels like cement that’s started to set up, and I hope she has enough strength to put forth the effort required to get out.
“Yes, you can,” I tell her. “Don’t make me come in there because I will grope around for your legs and pull them out myself. Grope being the key word.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she assures me with a roll of her eyes.
I have her concentrate on one leg at a time and after a few minutes of struggling, she manages to work her legs close to the surface. I pull until she makes it to the edge and then I help her stand, but when she tries to drop my hand, I don’t let go.
“Uh-uh. No more running off to look for Preston. We can look as we go. And if it makes you feel better, I can snoop around the tribe later and see if anyone’s talking about an upcoming feast, but for now, I need to get you somewhere safe. This way,” I say. “We’ve wasted a lot of time.”
I tug impatiently on her arm and cut swiftly through the lush green plants surrounding us. She’s not talking because I told her not to, but I wish I knew what was going through her head. She seems to be a magnet for trouble—unaware of how best to stay safe and instead gravitates toward danger like people in scary movies who always go wandering in the dark instead of staying put.
This island is full of dangers she can’t even imagine, and yet she still doesn’t realize she needs my protection. Her taking off could have ended badly just like her attempt to escape yesterday. Escape. That’s something people do to get away from harm, and all I want to do is help her. If the quicksand scare wasn’t enough to convince her to want to stay with me, this next plan should do the trick. That is, if she remembers.
One of the many things I’ve learned so far from reading her journal is that she likes to be surprised, and mine will be the whopper of all surprises. Even Preston had picked up on that little tidbit of info and showed up in a convertible red Ferrari Spider at eight in the morning the weekend after their first date to surprise her. The last journal entry I read this morning before she woke up included all the boring details of that day, enough to make me cringe at the extreme effort he went through to impress her and sweep her off her feet. I mean, the guy obviously had an overabundance of appeal and the money to match, but apparently, he didn’t think that was enough because he couldn’t resist buying a freaking sixty-foot sailboat so when he wanted to whisk her away in the future, he wouldn’t have to use his boss’ multi-million dollar plane.
Must be nice having a dilemma like that. The startling info was almost depressing until I read Ava’s account of the night ending without so much as a hug. Preston talks like a professional Casanova, but then he fails miserably at following through. But hey, I’m not complaining, I just think it’s weird. What guy could resist a goodnight kiss from a willing participant like her?
I stop at the wall of moss-covered rock in front of us that spreads out in both directions as far as I can see. Helping Ava climb to the top, I lift the lush greenery to pull her through the opening, and she gasps at the unexpected sight. We are looking at an island within an island. I’d never seen anything like it until I discovered this spot over a year ago. Below us is a nature-made pool of water and in the very center, a huge rock formation juts up towards the sky, resting on its own private beach. The sound of falling water can be heard in the distance.
“This is so cool,” she says. “Is there a waterfall?”
I nod. “It’s on the other side. Come on, I’ll show you.”
We make our way down the pile of rocks that surrounds this magical place like a protective wall, hiding it completely from view. We reach the bottom, and I wait for her to marvel at the massive formation across the water. I pull my canoe out of its hiding place in the thick foliage and drag the boat across the sand to the water, holding out my hand to help her climb in. Then I surprise her again by pulling a quarter from my pocket.
“Heads or tails?” I say, and she looks at me with a suspicious glare.
“What are we flipping for?”
“Whoever loses the coin toss has to row. Call it while it’s in the air. Ready?”
I flip the coin.
“Heads,” she says.
I catch the quarter and slap it down on the back of my hand, and then slowly uncover it. She laughs because I lost, but I would gladly lose every time just to hear her laugh again. Leering playfully, I slip the coin back into my pocket.
I row toward the mountain of rock and she sits silently as we glide through the water, taking in the majestic beauty around us. The canoe slides onto the sandy beach and after I help her out, I pull it ashore and tuck it between two rocks covered with greenery to disguise the canoe completely.
She stands near the water like she’s waiting for something, so I hold out my hand. Hesitating, she finally puts her hand in mine and follows me around the massive rock to walk along the narrow beach that is the small island. The sound of falling water gets louder and after a couple of minutes, we reach the far side. Above us is the waterfall that starts from the top of the mountain of rock and cascades down into the cove of water below.
I lead her under the falls where we stand in waist-deep water and let the falls wash off the caked-on mud and sand from our clothes and hair. She’s right next to me, close enough to touch, and if she were mine, I would pull her into my arms and kiss her, but her heart still belongs to someone else. I take a step back and watch her lift her head to welcome the spray of water on her face while she drags her hands down her hair. She looks good enough to be on a postcard, centered in a cloud of mist and droplets that dance around her before resting on her velvet skin.
I stare. I wait. When she’s finished washing, I lead her out of the water, let go of her hand, and turn to face her.
“Welcome to Daxwood Castle,” I say. “What do you think?”
Wicked Luck Page 12